


Spartans

by blueswan



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Episode Related, Identity Porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-17
Updated: 2005-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueswan/pseuds/blueswan





	Spartans

A/N: A riff on the scene from Soul Purpose when Lindsey shows Spike the apartment. The first line is lifted directly from the transcript, the rest is my imagination working overtime. A birthday gift for Killerweasel. Originally posted March 17, 2005. 

"I'm offering you a place to hang your hat. Or...your coat. Could say thank you." *

Spike glared at Doyle. "Haven't had or needed a keeper. Don't want one now. Bugger off."

"Uh huh. And the Slayer didn't keep you all stashed away safe, save you from the First? Did that for what Spike? Love? Friendship? What exactly was it anyway?"

"Telling you nothing, and don't mention her again." Spike threw Doyle against the wall and jammed his arm across Doyle's throat. Doyle grabbed at Spike's arm, and pulled.

"Got it," Doyle choked out. Spike relaxed his arm and Doyle gulped down air. "Sorry, okay? Going to let me go?"

"You let go of my arm, and I'll think about it."

"Right. Sorry." But the hands didn't drop.

Spike stared at the hands and waited. "Can keep this up all day, you know. Or push a little harder - see how long before your larynx collapses."

Slowly, the hands dropped. Doyle trailed one down Spike's chest while the other wound around his waist, and yanked Spike against him. He grinned at Spike whose lips curled in a smile that didn't approach friendly. Spike tilted his hips and twisted.

"That what you're after?" Spike leaned forward and kissed him. Hungry mouth slipping and sliding off his lips and trailing wet and slick across his jaw and back. Hand wrapped under his chin holding his face still while that mouth insistently worked him until he opened his lips. A ravenous tongue darted forward, and the hand pressed his head up and back, until he moaned.

Breathing was a hit-and-miss bit of business; Doyle gasping for cool bursts of oxygen when Spike's hand slipped down and wrapped lean fingers around his throat and squeezed in time with his thrusting tongue. His other hand slid into Doyle's hair and twisted a handful tightly. Doyle managed a muffled cry, and he felt Spike's mouth twist against his into the feral grin he'd shown earlier.

Only the wall was holding him upright - that and the hand he'd slapped against it. Spike jerked against him and he pushed back. Doyle felt hot and feverish, and when Spike released his mouth he protested, chasing after it frantically.

Thin cool fingers wrapped around his jaw again, stopped him, held him still, forced his head back and to the side until he felt chipped paint grinding into his check. Spike's tongue drew a line from mouth to neck and Doyle tried to steady himself when he felt lips circle his pulse and teeth caught skin and pulled. He moaned raggedly, and arched his neck even more.

"Done this before or dreamt it have you?" breathed in his ear. The hand in his hair yanked again and the mouth was back at his neck. Doyle surged forward, pressing flesh against teeth.

Abruptly, Spike stepped away, and Doyle stumbled and fell. When he raised his head and pushed his hair off his face, Spike was grinning down at him.

"Said I wasn't your kept boy. I pay my way. Call that an installment on this month's rent."  



End file.
